So when one of the revelers in a very vocal group gathered 'round the tiki bar caught my eye and said, "Hey! I'm James! What're you doing over there... taking notes?" I welcomed the chance to no longer be a stranger.††

I bellied up to the bar and we chatted and we got some flirt on‡‡ when a chick started rooting around in a barrel of ice in front of the bar, and then James said, "My wife -- that oompaloompa there -- hates it when I get fast."

"Well, James, you may not have gotten the memo, but 'fast' isn't on the top of your wife's honey-do list."

And it was funny and we all laughed.

Similar scenarios played themselves out over the next couple of hours, with some guy coming up and putting an arm around me and introducing himself and that some guy flirting a little and that some guy laughing at my back-at-you innuendo and that some guy introducing his wife.

I'm safe.

[SUMMARY: No longer a threat to others, only a threat to myself.]

Apparently, I have reached a place in my life where I am no longer the slightest threat to the sanctity of marriage.§§ It was fun, but I feel like I have to re-learn all the rules. I can't bank on eye contact and touch and sexy little suggestions being *flirting*. They may just be... banter.

I guess I'm in a place where I'm technically fertile, but nobody wants to test the theory.

I'm in flirtopause.

†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like 40 and single with a cat wasn't interesting enough.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Dave was supposed to be my competition in the spelling bee, but got his head stuck in a bottle of Cuervo and didn't make it.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Dave greeted me by telling me the last wave of kids had just left. My timing was excellent.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The gin? Bombay Sapphire. The crossword puzzle book? Because Dave brings the Onion crossword to the Coral Room most Saturdays and he won't let me help him. "Dave. Hey, Dave... are you stuck, Dave? Can I help you out there, Dave?"

"Leave me alone. I don't need your help."

I picked a random crossword puzzle from the middle of the book and worked it -- in pen -- with a note on the top of the page that said, "I helped!"

I think I'm funny.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I don't know if I can give you the full scope of how pathetic it was. Almost everybody was standing around in groups of 4, 5, 6, talking merrily away, but there was one guy all by himself. I think I may even have met him once before -- he looked familiar. About the time I settled on my place to stand, he was getting food, so I decided not to interrupt his dinner. Then he was throwing his plate away, so I decided not to interrupt that. Then he was sitting, staring into space and I decided not to interrupt that. Then he got up and walked into the house and I stood there, a pitiable wuss.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): If you don't think there's an appropriate use for the word "fuck," you are at the wrong blog.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): And test the waters on where to appropriately use "fuck" with a new friend.